


Closing the Distance

by Rroselavy



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-24
Updated: 2011-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/pseuds/Rroselavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ukoku learns that the direct route is the closest distance between two points.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closing the Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the year that Ukoku and Koumyou travelled together. Written for the LJ/DW community, Valentine_smut.

_Laughter is the shortest distance between two people._  ~ Victor Borge

Koumyou’s laughter could bring entire kingdoms to their knees, Ukoku decided. Right now, its effervescent cadence floated above the din of the monastery’s communal dining area. Normally during mealtime, as was custom, the room would be as quiet as a library, but the honor of being visited by not one, but two sanzo priests had brought an unusual sense of levity to the Shaolin monastery.

The walk--at Koumyou’s insistence--to Song Shan had been long, hot, and boring, and to Ukoku, verging on eternity. Often, they would hike for hours on end, not stopping to eat or drink from dawn to dusk. Koumyou’s pace was spirited and light; he practically skipped along with Ukoku huffing behind, struggling to keep up. It wasn’t so much a trek as a Death March, Ukoku concluded, perhaps conjured up as some torturous form of punishment by the Gods, or Koumyou, or both. The more he complained about his predicament, the more lighthearted Koumyou became, it seemed. He would stop and point out the beauty of a meadow dotted with bright orange lilies, and in the next breath remark upon the contrast of the densely forested mountains against the clear sky. Then he’d look at the dust that swirled about their feet and find beauty in the iridescent carapace on a beetle.  It was maddening, and just when Ukoku would feel that he’d reached his breaking point and had begun to contemplate a second homicide, Koumyou would laugh. Not a full-out belly-laugh, but just a little lilting chuckle that was as refreshing as a slight breeze gently stirring the undersides of leaves on a stifling summer day.

Ukoku had first heard Koumyou laugh on the day they’d met, when he’d been sweeping the dried leaves that had accumulated in the temple courtyard. Koumyou had prattled on about his son, Kouryuu, and how much alike Ukoku and the young boy were. He’d flitted like a bird from topic to topic: from sweet potatoes and cookouts to pointed questions that probed Ukoku’s motivation for attempting to become a sanzo. Ukoku hadn’t particularly liked Koumyou then, and keeping up with him in conversation, if it could have been called that, had been like chasing kite-tails. When he’d left Koumyou’s company that night, it was with the distinct impression that he’d been schooled by a master—someone with far more finesse than the ham-fisted Goudai. Later, Ukoku had lain awake on his mat for hours, contemplating this newest wrinkle in his plans.

If he’d any doubt that Koumyou was a formidable opponent, it was laid to rest just days after their first meeting. Even though the bruise to his skin was gone, weeks later it still pained Ukoku when he pressed where the fingermarks had been—Koumyou had managed to bruise his radius as well. Ukoku was reasonably certain that had Koumyou been of a mind to interfere with Goudai’s contest, he could have, easily. Ukoku often wondered why Koumyou hadn’t--after all, he and Goudai were old friends. And then he wondered if some day Koumyou’s little boy would step over _his_ body to become sanzo, and another feeling crept over Ukoku; one that was entirely unfamiliar to him.

The heat they suffered on most of the journey had had its advantages, though. Namely, Ukoku had gotten to see Koumyou Sanzo nude. His memory of Koumyou’s lean, long body had fueled many a hushed wank before Ukoku drifted off to sleep after another exhausting day. Koumyou’s body put the idealized statues that the Greeks created to shame.

Ukoku was first afforded a glimpse the very first evening of their journey when they’d found a place to camp beside a small, crystal clear brook. After a cursory meal of rice porridge and green tea, Koumyou had stood and artlessly stripped. The effect on Ukoku was instantaneous and obvious. Every plane and contour was perfection; seemingly designed with one intent: to sharpen Ukoku’s desire. Laughing, Koumyou asked if he was going to stand there gawking or join him for a swim.

He was ruined from that day on. Clothed or not, Koumyou was a complete distraction. Ukoku followed his hypnotizing ponytail for hours, contemplating how the pale filaments would feel sliding between his fingers, or brushing against his skin. Koumyou seemed happily oblivious to Ukoku’s growing interest, which only fueled his fantasies more. Could Koumyou be a virgin? The thought he might stand a chance at _deflowering_ the older monk began to dog his waking hours.

He began to devise plans. First, he needed to cultivate his maturity, which wasn’t all that difficult. As a disciple, Ukoku had taken great pleasure in acting out just for the effect it had on the monastic hierarchy. He would play the “bad boy” to the point where Goudai would be practically apoplectic—reduced to a sputtering, red-faced Goliath. It was child’s play—figuratively and literally. But it had been merely a pleasant diversion. He’d still attacked his studies with ferocity and had practiced his martial arts harder than any of the other candidates. If Koumyou noticed his change in behavior, however, he didn’t mention it.

Ukoku didn’t let that put him off.

He decided to ratchet up the heat. He copied Koumyou’s brazen behavior. After all, two could play at that game, and he wasn’t ashamed of his body. He took to standing side by side with Koumyou, peeling away the layers of clothing, beginning with a ritual rolling of the sutras and securing them safely among their belongings. Next off came the bamboo breastplates, then the coarse robes, tabi and underclothes, and finally, the arm warmers. Even then, just a hair’s breadth apart, Koumyou remained blissfully ignorant of Ukoku’s overtures, as well as his effect on Ukoku. Glancing down, Ukoku could see his dick’s expression of interest, a quick darting of the eyes, confirmed Koumyou’s flaccid disinterest.  The apparent lack of effect he had on Koumyou only served to make Ukoku redouble his efforts. He became giddy with desire. And that was the thing about Koumyou’s effect on him; he was intoxicating. He made Ukoku feel as if the floor underneath his feet was always slipping away from him, and it was all he could do to keep himself from losing his balance.

When they’d finally begun the ascent up the mountain to the monastery, the change to a cooler climate had nearly made Ukoku shed tears of joy; he probably would have, if it hadn’t come with the realization that his latest pastime, covertly ogling Koumyou in various states of dress and undress, would be seriously curtailed.

At least the plan wasn’t to stay there much more than a couple of days. Ukoku thought he could tolerate that; it would give him time to work on his strategy. He figured that he could just as easily come right out and tell Koumyou his licentious intentions, but for once in his life, Ukoku had found something, or rather--someone--who wasn’t a “sure thing.” The feelings invoked by this novel situation were most perplexing.

The meal prepared in their honor was lavish, in particular because of the contrast it created to the simple meals that were the staple of their nomadic existence: rice porridge, steamed vegetables, and fruits donated by the locals in the towns and villages he and Koumyou wandered through. Despite roughing it as he’d been, though, in Koumyou’s company, Ukoku had never felt more alive and content in all his life.

The Shaolin monastery was an ancient and wealthy one; obscenely so when Ukoku contrasted it to Zenouji, which was drab and run-down by comparison. The main temple building was painted a brilliant crimson and its eaves and guardians on the roof line were gilt, as were the eighteen Arharts represented within.

The meal ended and some of the tables in the center of the dining hall were cleared away. Ukoku suspected that they would be treated to a show of the kung fu technique that had made the Shaolin monastery famous. To Ukoku’s left, Koumyou laughed sharply at something being said, and Ukoku tuned his attention to the conversation Koumyou was engaged in with the abbot of the monastery.

“No, no, Ji-long-sama, I insist.”

“But Koumyou-houshi, only a minute ago you were protesting that you were an old man. Weren’t you just complaining how hard the ground has been underneath your back? And how happy you were to be able to sleep on a comfortable mattress?”

“But I-“

“Nonsense! Your companion is a sanzo, also. And he’s a strapping young man.” Ji-long looked at Ukoku appraisingly, a humorless smile forming on his lips. “Or is it that you’re afraid he’s not talented enough to spar Li-liang?” Ji-long’s eyes narrowed and Ukoku noticed Koumyou’s mouth tighten; his whole posture changed from being relaxed and at ease to alertness.

Koumyou was protecting him. But that didn’t make sense at all to Ukoku. Koumyou had seen firsthand how powerful he was; so why would he now be trying to shield him?

“I accept the challenge,” Ukoku spoke quietly, sizing up the monk whom the abbot had singled out. He was a mountain of a man, and he stood confidently--bare-chested, feet apart in front of the dais at which they’d been seated.

Koumyou leaned over to whisper in his ear. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I could use the workout,” Ukoku quipped, standing and stepping off the elevated platform. At full height, he only came up to his would-be opponent’s well-defined, massive chest. Koumyou looked as if he were about to say something, then thought the better of it. The room hushed in an expectant silence.

“As you wish, Ukoku houshi-sama,” he said finally.

The formality of the address sent a frisson up and down Ukoku’s spine, and for the first time since Koumyou had given him his name, Ukoku felt the full weight and power of his newly-attained position.

He undid the obi of his borrowed robe, let the shirt fall to the floor, and then he stepped into the makeshift ring, his naked skin burning under Koumyou’s intense gaze. Li-liang’s physique was close to being muscle-bound. Sure he was strong, but Ukoku was fast; Li-liang would be lucky if he could keep up with his agile moves. This was going to be a piece of cake.

Only, apparently, the meathead didn’t get that memo, Ukoku thought darkly, about five minutes later, when his left shoulder felt dislocated and his ribs felt bruised. The crowd cheered on their favorite son, now that it was clear Ukoku was being trounced. The stupid oaf was humiliating him in front of Koumyou! He was fast despite his size, Ukoku had to give him that, but something else was at work, too. He could feel a dangerous aura ebbing and flowing around him, tightening around his chest and cutting off his breath.

It was getting him pissed. He became more careless in his attacks, each one was easily turned aside by Li-liang; each time Ukoku landed on his back, it was a hard landing, almost knocking the wind out of him.

He realized was being toyed with, that Li-liang’s strategy was to let Ukoku wear himself out. Ukoku bobbed from foot to foot breathing heavily, working out another tack, to lure Li-liang to attack. He danced around him, peppering him with volleys of punch and kick combinations. They seemed more of a nuisance than an effective attack. When Li-liang finally did switch to offense, it was with brutal efficiency; a roundhouse caught Ukoku on the side of his head and left his ears ringing, it was followed by two hard hits to his body that had the room swimming. Then it, and the noise around him faded to black. Ukoku focused on Li-liang and, in a moment of sudden clarity he felt a rush of adrenalin. He sidestepped a flying V meant to flatten him and, as he pirouetted away from his opponent, he lashed out with a vicious back kick, toppling him. Li-liang landed in a crumpled heap. For a second, Ukoku was just as shocked as he was; he imagined his face was gaping just as much as Li-liang’s. He hadn’t even hit him hard, or, at least it didn’t feel that way to Ukoku. The audience hushed as Li-liang struggled to his feet. When he rose, he was brandishing a _kukri_. Ukoku’s eyes widened at the evil-looking blade. The friendly sparring match had just turned lethal. He glanced at Koumyou, who was now involved in a heated discussion with Ji-long.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” Ukoku asked, a wicked grin forming on his lips. He felt that same rush and he raised his hands. The motion sent the giant flying across the room. With the power coursing through him, much like the day he defeated Goudai, Ukoku found it nearly impossible to stop. Now for Ukoku, Li-liang became no better than a hornet or some other pest that had irritated him. He felt his power filling the room and felt the other men cower in the face of it.

All except one. Ukoku saw Koumyou stand up out of the corner of his eye.

“That’s enough,” he said softly. Li-liang was thrashing about, his hands at his throat, making choking noises. Ukoku wallowed in the darkness; the power seeped through him, filling every synapse. He felt Li-liang’s life-force grow weaker and weaker. Koumyou raised his arms and leveled his hands palms outward. Suddenly the darkness around Ukoku was splintered by a brilliant, pale light. It washed over him and raced through the dining hall, blanketing over all the other monks, including Li-liang and the abbot, immobilizing them. Koumyou walked daintily around the dais and stepped down; Ukoku could only follow him with his eyes. The room was silent now.

“I think we should like to retire to our rooms for the night,” he said, picking up Ukoku’s shirt. He draped it over Ukoku’s shoulders. “Thank you for your hospitality, Ji-long.”

Suddenly Ukoku could move again. The room erupted as if from a dream, sounds of wonder surrounding them. Ukoku stole a glimpse at the abbot’s ashen face as he limped towards an opening between the nearest columns that led to the courtyard and the dorm where they’d been given guest rooms. Koumyou offered him a shoulder as support.

When they returned to Ukoku’s quarters, Koumyou helped him to the modest bed and then stepped away to prepare a bath for him. While the tap was running, he took off Ukoku’s shoes then helped him out of the loose bottoms he was wearing. He _tch_ ed when more bruises were revealed in the light.

Koumyou helped Ukoku ease into the deep-soak tub. The hot water was soft against his skin and it smelled of salts. He relaxed and rested his head against the copper lip. Koumyou stepped behind him and sat on a low stool. He touched Ukoku’s sore shoulder, laying the flat of his hand against the joint. Almost immediately Ukoku felt and heard a _pop_! and the area was flooded with a soothing warmth. Ukoku imagined that he could feel the sinews of the muscles underneath his skin unknotting and retracting and realigning. The throbbing pain he’d been experienced there vanished. Koumyou’s hand traveled over Ukoku’s chest, the other joined it over Ukoku’s ribcage. He could feel Koumyou’s breath fluttering his hair. Once again warmth flooded the injured area and suddenly his chest no longer felt as if it were in a vise. He closed his eyes and sighed. “That feels amazing,” he said.

“The abbot was after your sutra, you know. If you lost the match, it could be claimed by the Shaolin monastery. Ji-long was hedging his bet, you see.”

“How? Why would he think—“

Koumyou gently planted his thumb in the center of Ukoku’s forehead. Ukoku closed his eyes and imagined what it would feel like inside his his mouth. He reached up and took Koumyou’s hand by the wrist and brought it even with his mouth.

“Why didn’t you stop me from sparring, then?”

“Ukoku, you’re not my disciple, you’re my equal.” It felt good to be acknowledged like that and to know that despite their age difference Koumyou didn’t see them as unequal. But something puzzled him.

“Then why did you stop me just now?”

“If I hadn’t, you would have surely killed Li-liang.”

“But he was trying to kill me!”

“And we both know he couldn’t possibly do that.” Ukoku thought about the surge of power that had seemed to flow from him effortlessly.

“So?”

“It would have been … messy, if that had happened.”

“You mean, you would have needed to get _more_ involved.”

“That too,” Koumyou chuckled. He still didn’t pull his hand away.

“Why do you suppose the Gods didn’t give me a chakra? Why don’t They think I’m the rightful heir? Am I not worthy of being a keeper of the sutra?” Ukoku contemplated the hand he’d captured; it was fine-boned and delicate. It hardly seemed possible it could have inflicted the pain it had. But Ukoku knew Koumyou had not been lying that night when he’d said he’d been holding back; today had only been further proof. He’d laughed then, too, and Ukoku had thought he was mocking him. Maybe he had been, but there’d also been affection in the undertones. That thought warmed Ukoku.

Koumyou rested his elbows on the lip of the tub on either side of Ukoku’s head. “It’s not my place to question their divinity.”

“Do you agree with Them?”

Koumyou stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. “I’m not sure there’s anything to agree with. After all, you’re still alive and still in possession of the Muten Sutra. You could spend a lifetime interpreting that paradox, or you could just live.”

“Or spend a lifetime defending what’s mine,” Ukoku added tartly.

“It comes with the territory, Ukoku. There’s always someone who wants what they can’t or shouldn’t have.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Was Koumyou talking about him? Ukoku wanted to know, and he was tired of playing his childish games. He opened his mouth and took Koumyou’s thumb inside. He half-expected Koumyou to recoil; he was pleasantly surprised when Koumyou’s other fingers stroked his face--a breakthrough, finally! Ukoku rubbed his tongue the length of Koumyou’s thumb before releasing it. Koumyou withdrew his hand then, only to rest it  lightly on Ukoku’s shoulder.

“Koumyou, let down your hair,” he pleaded softly, emboldened by Koumyou’s quiet acquiescence. The magical moment stretched on for a few seconds. Ukoku felt the tension build inside in anticipation.

“Is that what you want?” Koumyou’s voice was impossibly close, his breath was hot against Ukoku’s ear.  He shivered and nodded his head. He closed his eyes and waited for the gentle rebuke of Koumyou’s laughter over his preposterous request. But he’d neither recoiled nor chastised him for his behavior. Ukoku took that as a positive sign. “I suppose this was inevitable,” Koumyou said quietly. Ukoku’s pulse quickened at the admission.

Ukoku heard the rustle of Koumyou’s robes, and then something else--the snap of the elastic that bound his hair. And then he felt meters of it fall, feather-light over his face. It smelled wonderful. It felt even better.

“Let’s get you properly dry, Ukoku.”

“How about getting you properly wet?”

“That’s rather presumptuous of you, isn’t it?” Koumyou half-laughed, his voice growing smaller as he moved away.

When Ukoku opened his eyes, Koumyou was holding a large towel open for him. He stood, his erection jutting proudly as the bath water sluiced from his body. The cool air caused his nipples to tighten appreciably; he imagined Koumyou’s elegant fingers grazing over the hardened peaks. There was no reason to hide his desire anymore. Ukoku understood they were at a turning point. He stepped out of the basin and padded over to Koumyou, turning his back to him when he stood before him, but not before he caught Koumyou’s eyes lowering, sliding over his body. The towel was draped over his shoulders and Koumyou started to wick away the water. Feeling his hands on him like this, through the soft terrycloth, drew a soft moan from his throat. Koumyou let the towel slip lower and carefully dried Ukoku’s legs, avoiding his erection. Then he drew his hand slowly up to Ukoku’s crotch and cupped his balls with the towel. Ukoku swallowed hard; an electric jolt coursed low in his belly. He wobbled unsteadily; Koumyou’s other hand on his hip acted as an anchor. Then it slid over and wrapped another part of the towel over Ukoku’s hard shaft.

“Koumyou,” Ukoku whispered.

Koumyou only chuckled lightly. The sound danced teasingly over Ukoku’s skin. He thrust his hips forward, but the friction that movement created wasn’t enough.

“Turn around.” Ukoku did as he was told, for once, speechless. As he did so, the towel fell to the floor and Koumyou dropped to his knees before him. Ukoku could only gape in wonder as Koumyou opened his mouth and guided him inside.

The warm, wet pressure was divine. Ukoku anchored his hands to Koumyou’s shoulders, slipping his fingers through the long, silky strands of his hair. He tipped his head back and screwed his eyes shut, focusing on the immense pleasure Koumyou was giving him. It turned out that Koumyou was either very experienced or even more talented than he could have imagined. Ukoku couldn’t decide which it was, not that it mattered. Koumyou’s past was nothing to him, all he cared about at the moment was that his dick was buried in Koumyou’s sinful mouth. Koumyou’s hands caressed his ass and Ukoku felt his fingers delve into the cleft and brush enticingly over his entrance. Definitely not inexperienced and definitely very talented, Ukoku decided when Koumyou backed off and swirled his tongue over the crown. He canted his hips needily and Koumyou obliged, taking him in to the root.

Ukoku let out a strangulated groan as Koumyou fingered him. The stimulation, on the heels of the warm bath and healing session, was far too much for Ukoku to remain in control. He dug his fingers into Koumyou’s shoulders, then grabbed fistfuls of his hair and wantonly thrust into the tight heat of Koumyou’s mouth as his orgasm bore down on him.

His climax took him by surprise and was almost disappointing; Ukoku had wanted the moment to last much longer.  He felt his mood in free fall as he spiraled down from his climax. He loosened his grip on Koumyou and Koumyou stood up, pulling him close. He was still dressed in the saffron robes the monks had given them while theirs were being laundered. Ukoku could feel the heat of his body and the hardness of his erection through the thin, cheap material. It was all wrong for Koumyou, he deserved to be dressed in the finest silks. Ukoku slid his hands over Koumyou’s back; relishing the ability to feel what had so recently been off limits.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” he admitted, his lips pressed against Koumyou’s neck.

Koumyou’s breath caught. “I thought, ‘how could he possibly be interested in me?’ I’m twice your age!”

Ukoku took Koumyou’s head in his hands and leveled his gaze. There were so many answers to that; he didn’t even know where to begin. He was more than interested, he was fascinated, not just by Koumyou’s inscrutability, but also by the power he possessed. Ukoku wanted to know everything he possibly could about Koumyou; he looked forward to unraveling all the mysteries as they travelled together. Ukoku had never met someone who had that effect on him, who hadn’t fallen short of his expectations with within days, or, more often, hours.

He sealed their mouths together and tasted his own essence on Koumyou’s lips, and slipped his hands between their bodies to loosen Koumyou’s top. The feel of Koumyou’s skin underneath his fingertips was sublime. Ukoku flattened his palms against Koumyou’s chest; Koumyou’s pulse was racing and his heart pounded underneath his ribcage. Pulling back, Ukoku watched minute ticks of emotion pass over Koumyou’s placid face.

“Does that matter?” he asked, his hands wandering lower. He pulled at the drawstring at the waistband of Koumyou’s pants.

Koumyou’s face brightened and he laughed. “No,” he replied, “I don’t think it does.”


End file.
